The Mind's Eye
by Swanseajill
Summary: Sam stares into the night, preparing himself mentally for the task ahead. It’s important that he’s ready. It’s vital that he’s strong enough. If he fails, he may lose himself. If he fails, he'll lose Dean.


**Title:** The Mind's Eye  
**Author:** Swanseajill  
**Rating: **Gen, T  
**Characters:** Sam, Dean, Bobby  
**Pairing**: None  
**Spoilers:** Set straight after the events of _No Rest for the Wicked_  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, making no money from them

**Summary:** Sam stands at the window of the dimly lit room staring into the night, composing himself inwardly, preparing himself mentally for the task ahead. It's important that he's ready. It's vital that he's strong enough. If he fails, he may lose himself. If he fails, he'll lose Dean.

**Author's Notes:** I originally started this straight after Season Three because I couldn't handle the idea that Dean really had gone to hell. It was inspired by one of the final shots in _No Rest_, where the camera zooms through Dean's eye to show him being tortured. I took a few liberties with the extent of Dean's injuries to make it work!

Grateful thanks to Dotfic who kindly agreed to beta for me – this is a vastly improved fic as a result of her ruthlessness and eye for detail.

* * *

**Now  
**Sam stands at the window of the dimly lit room staring into the night, composing himself inwardly, preparing himself mentally for the task ahead.

It's important that he's ready. It's vital that he's strong enough.

If he fails, he may lose himself.

If he fails, he'll lose Dean.

It's dark and still outside. The streetlights illuminate the parking lot where now only half a dozen cars are parked. One of them is a black Chevy Impala, crouched sleek and brooding in the shadows. A slight wind rustles the leaves of the row of tall poplars at the far end of the lot.

He's unsure how to do this, to prepare his mind. Maybe what's required is to clear it of thoughts, to focus solely on the task. But as he tries to concentrate, he sees a flash image of Dean - twisted, bloody and lifeless - and his mind snaps back in time.

**Then  
**Sam tightened his grip on Dean's limp body and pressed his forehead against dark blond hair, unable to face the sight of his brother's torn body. He felt Dean's lifeblood soaking through his shirt, warm and sticky, the sweet, sickly smell bringing bile to his throat.

"Sam. Sam! Listen to me. He's alive. Dean's still alive."

He had no memory of Bobby's arrival, but it was clearly his gruff voice, the note of urgency penetrating Sam's numbness. Of course, his words made no sense. Dean was dead. No one could have survived the obscene savagery inflicted by the hellhound. The hound had been invisible to Sam, but the wounds it inflicted had not, nor had Dean's cries of agony, or the suffering etched onto his face.

Yet it wasn't the wounds that told Sam his brother was dead. The moment he'd looked into Dean's open and sightless eyes, he'd known. There was nothing of Dean left there. Dean, who hated talking about his feelings, had always given himself away through his eyes. Shifts in color and size of pupil were easy giveaways to someone who knew him as well as Sam.

Looking into his eyes a moment before, Sam had known that his soul was gone. The once vibrant green eyes were empty, vacant. Deanless.

Dean was dead and his soul was in hell.

Dean was dead because Sam had failed.

Tears streamed unchecked down his face, dampening his brother's hair.

He heard Bobby's voice again, more urgent this time.

"Sam! Please, you have to let him go, let us help him. Dean's alive, Sam. He's still alive!"

He knew Bobby was wrong but some final, desperate craving for hope made him curl shaking fingers around Dean's neck. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he felt it. A pulse, faint and erratic, but beating. A pulse meant a chance. And a chance was all a Winchester ever needed.

**Now  
**Sam turns from the window to look at Dean, lying completely still in the hospital bed. He finds it hard to believe, even now, that Dean's alive, because he doesn't look it. He's pale, unresponsive, and for the past twenty-three days his body has acted as little more than a shell. As always the sight sends a spasm of pain through Sam and he pulls himself up, takes a shaky breath and reminds himself that very soon, everything is going to change.

He wonders if it was a miracle, or just a bizarre chance of fate that caused Lilith to possess the child of a woman who worked as a nurse in the local ER. The woman – he can't even remember her name, though he came within breath of killing her daughter – saved Dean's life. Sam doesn't remember what she did, doesn't remember much of anything that happened immediately after he reluctantly relinquished his death grip on his brother. She'd worked feverishly to stop the bleeding, aware that every second was vital, that Dean could so easily bleed out before the paramedics arrived. All Sam remembers clearly is holding tightly on to Dean's hand, clutching lifeless fingers slick with blood, and watching her work. Numb and detached, one thought ran a ticker tape through his mind. He's alive… he's alive… he's alive…

**Then  
**Sam sat squeezed into in a small plastic chair, mind numb, head pounding, body aching with fatigue, waiting, just waiting. Dean had been in surgery for seven hours and thirty-four minutes. Bobby sat beside Sam, twisting his cap in his hands, talking urgently about wild animal attacks and getting their stories straight for the police. Sam barely registered his words; all he could think about was Dean, lying on an operating table while the surgeons tried to put his torn body back together.

Bobby ran out of steam eventually and they sat in silence for a few moments. Then Bobby asked the inevitable question.

"You gonna tell me exactly what happened back there?"

That was the last thing Sam wanted to do, but Bobby of all people deserved to know. He gave the older man a quick summary, up until the point they discovered Lilith had expelled Ruby and taken over her host.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "How did she manage that?"

Sam shrugged. "She's more powerful than Ruby, I guess she can do pretty much what she likes."

Bobby grunted. "I guess. So, what happened next?"

"She overpowered us, had us pinned down. Then she…she let the hellhound in." He paused as Bobby swore under his breath, remembering the feeling of desperation and horror as Lilith opened the door and the expression on Dean's face – stoic, defiant, determined not to let his terror show. He swallowed. "It… it took Dean down and he… it…"

"It's okay," Bobby said gruffly. "I saw him. I get the picture."

Sam bit his lip. "I… there was nothing I could do. I tried, Bobby, I tried to break free, but she was too strong and I… I just had to watch while it…it... " His voice broke.

Bobby reached out and awkwardly squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, son."

Sam ran his hands through his hair and blew out a long breath. "Then… she raised her hand and a white light shot out from it and I remember thinking that this was the end, that I was going to die too and Dean's sacrifice would be for nothing. And then – everything stopped."

Bobby frowned. "What do you mean, stopped?"

Bobby deserved the truth, but Sam wasn't entirely sure what that was. "I mean," he said, choosing his words carefully, "it was over. I was still alive and she was looking at me…" he raised his eyes uncertainly to meet Bobby's. "She was standing there …just looking at me. I got up, picked up the knife, and she just stood there. Then she left the host. I didn't touch her. She just left. And that was it."

Bobby looked at him searchingly. "Sam, what did you do?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. I didn't do anything."

A tall, distinguished looking man in scrubs appeared, saving Sam from further interrogation. He registered little of the man's words, fixating on two statements – "he has a fighting chance of a physical recovery" and "he's comatose, but breathing on his own." Dean was alive – not just his body, but his mind – and that meant that his soul was still with him. His soul wasn't in hell.

**Now  
**The terrible wounds are slowly healing, though Dean will carry the scars for life, criss- crossing his body, puckered scarlet reminders of his terrible ordeal. Not his face, though. The hellhound didn't touch his face. Sam almost smiles as he imagines Dean trying to hide his relief that his good looks are still intact.

Dean looks almost peaceful lying there. Sheets pulled up to his neck, hiding the telltale bandages decorating his body, he might be simply asleep. He looks younger than his years, as he always does in sleep, face unlined and free of worry and the weight of too much experience and the knowledge of evil that he's carried with him since childhood.

His eyes are closed, but Sam knows that if he reaches out and pulls back an eyelid, a sightless eye will stare back at him, pupils dim, the window to his mind and soul firmly closed.

Sam's ready now. He has only to wait another few minutes before he can begin.

He settles in the chair beside Dean. He's spent so much time in it the spongy cushion has worn to the shape of his body. He tries to relax but it's impossible, he's too hyped.

He glances at his watch. 2.45 am. He stands up and walks quickly into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him. Two minutes later, he hears the door to Dean's room open followed by soft footsteps as a nurse walks across to Dean's bed. She comes at this time every night, doing the rounds, checking vitals. A few moments later, the footsteps sound again and the door closes.

Sam's pulse quickens. He knows from careful observation over the past few weeks that she won't return for several hours. This is the moment he's been waiting for. He leaves the bathroom and returns to the chair, checks his watch again. A couple more minutes, then it will be time.

**Then  
**Sam sat in a comfortable chair at Dean's bedside. The euphoria he'd felt at hearing Dean had made it through surgery had dimmed over the past three days. Dean was still alive, but in a deep coma. The fact that he was breathing on his own was remarkable and Sam held on to that, kept his eyes fixed constantly on the rhythmic rise and fall of Dean's chest, the only proof he had that the medical staff were right.

He leaned forward, carefully feeling for Dean's hand around the tangle of tubes and needles, needing the physical contact. He took limp fingers in his own and felt – something. A fragment of feeling – pain, despair? - touched his mind.

He took his hand away quickly, frowning. Maybe he'd imagined it. Tentatively he reached out and grasped Dean's hand again and this time there was no mistaking it. He felt pain, fear and despair like a distant echo, hard to hold on to. He studied Dean's face, but there was no sign there of inner turmoil.

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He must be imagining it. Probably a side effect of sleep deprivation. It was days since he'd slept more than a few hours in one go.

When Bobby finally persuaded him to leave Dean's side, he returned to the hotel, took a shower and managed to sleep for a couple of hours. Then he was back and Bobby stood awkwardly beside him as he sank down on the familiar chair and grasped his brother's hand once more.

Pain crashed through him. Shocked, he broke contact and scooted back, mouth dry.

"Sam? What just happened?"

Sam hunched over, shaking, vaguely aware of Bobby squatting down beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam! Talk to me."

Sam looked up, stuttering over his words. "I don't know, Bobby. When I touched him … I don't know what happened. I think… I think I saw into his mind. And he's in pain, Bobby."

Bobby grunted. "Of course he is. That hellhound did a real number on him."

No, that wasn't it. It was more than that, Sam was sure.

The next time Bobby suggested rest Sam didn't argue. He had a theory and he needed to test it. By some miracle he slept for six hours and woke stronger and more alert than he'd felt in days. Back at the hospital, he found an excuse to send Bobby away. He sat in the familiar chair beside Dean's bed, closed his eyes and concentrated. This time he was ready when he took hold of Dean's hand.

The pain was even more intense but he gritted his teeth and rode it, controlled it, pushed past it. He hit darkness. Then a flash lit up what looked like a matrix of wires laid out like a giant spider's web. The light faded to black then another flash and this time he glimpsed Dean, spread-eagled across the cables, alone and screaming Sam's name.

Sam felt something pulling him away and abruptly the connection broke. He slumped back, pulse racing. Now he understood.

Later, Sam told Bobby, "I think… I think he was on the verge of death when Lilith… when her power failed. The hellhound vanished before it finished the job, but Dean… I don't know, maybe he'd already accepted that he was dying. He expected to go to hell, so his mind took him there."

Bobby looked at him long and hard. "Sam, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Dean's mind created its own hell, maybe put together from images he'd seen--maybe from his nightmares." Sam swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "He believes it's real, and because he believes it he's going to stay there unless I can save him. And I will, Bobby. I have to."

**Now  
**Sam remembers those bold words. He meant them then and he still does. He knows he can do this because he's finally accepted the truth. His power is back. He doesn't like it, doesn't understand it, but he's sure it's allowing him to see into his brother's mind. And he knows he can use it to save Dean.

The door opens. Bobby steps into the room, quietly closes the door behind him, and slips the catch into place. He locks eyes with Sam. Sam nods.

It's time.

**Then  
**"Dammit, Sam."

I have to save him, Bobby."

"How, Sam? He's in a coma!"

"If I can sense what's happening in his mind, I think it's possible I can go into his mind, make him aware of my presence. If I can do that, I can make him realize that it's not real."

Bobby shook his head. "Go into his mind? And what makes you think you can do a crazy thing like that?"

Sam hesitated. He hadn't been totally honest with himself or with Bobby when he said he didn't know what happened in that room with Lilith. Because it was no one-off miracle or freaky coincidence. He'd defeated her himself. Something within him had resisted Lilith's power and drained it from her. He felt it now, coiled within him and waiting to strike again.

"Bobby, I didn't tell you the whole truth about what happened with Lilith."

Bobby snorted and folded his arms. "I knew you were holding something back. Figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

Sam braced himself. "Yeah, well, the thing is, I think I was the one who stopped Lilith. I don't know how I did it," he went on quickly at Bobby's shocked expression, "but somehow I defeated her – with my mind."

Bobby looked like he thought Sam had gone completely nuts. "You defeated her with your mind?"

"I can't explain," Sam said helplessly. "I just know I did it. And whatever this thing is, it's letting me to see into Dean's mind. I think it's related to those powers I had… before. I thought they'd gone when the demon died, but I guess not."

Bobby blew out a long breath. "Okay. I'll buy that. But there's a big different between looking into his mind and joining him in it."

"I think" Sam said slowly, "that what I did to Lilith drained me, somehow, and I need to get my strength back. Remember, I could only feel Dean faintly at first, but each time I've tried since the connection's been stronger. Just now, I spoke his name and I'm sure he heard me. I'm not strong enough to keep that going yet, but I will. It's just a matter of time."

Bobby didn't look convinced. "What if you do get into his mind, and something goes wrong? You could be trapped in there with him."

Sam shrugged. "I know that. But I have to try. I'm not leaving him – not again. How many times have we left him, Bobby, me and Dad? We've both let him down but he's never let us down ever, not once." He looked Bobby in the eye. "It's not going to happen again. I'm not leaving him again."

Bobby's expression softened. "I understand what you're saying. Just… don't rush it, kid. Be sure you're ready."

"I will. But…I won't leave him there a minute longer than I have to. You didn't see it, Bobby. You didn't see what he's going through…" His throat constricted, cutting off further words.

He had to save his brother. And he had to do it soon.

**Now  
**It's time," Sam says.

Bobby nods slowly. "All right. If you're sure you're ready. I'll be right here. Promise me that if you think something's going wrong, you'll get out."

"I promise."

Sam doesn't take another moment to think about it. He sits on the bed, takes Dean's right hand in his own left and puts his right hand on Dean's forehead. He closes his eyes and immediately the connection is there. The now familiar pain lances through him and he grits his teeth as he fights to control it, as he has before. He imagines himself pushing the pain back, disassociates himself with it and after a moment, it recedes.

He reaches out and for a moment, he's alone in the darkness. He feels strange, disoriented. A flash lights up the darkness and he sees that this time, he himself is caught up in the web, not tied down but lying balanced across several wires.

Dean lies a few feet away, spread-eagled as before. Sam recoils as he sees now that Dean's held in place by vicious hooks embedded in his flesh. Blood flows freely from those wounds and myriad others criss-crossing his body. There are lines of tear tracks on his cheeks and his face contorts in pain.

He's still screaming for Sam. "Sammy! Don't leave me here!"

Sam's chest tightens and he feels himself losing his grip on the scene. He reminds himself that none of this is real, it's all in Dean's mind. In reality, his brother's body is lying in a hospital bed, slowly healing.

The thought gives him focus and everything becomes clear again. He turns his head and calls his brother's name. "Dean!"

Dean doesn't react.

Very carefully, Sam crabs across the space that separates them, climbs the wires until he can reach out and put a hand on Dean's arm.

"Dean, it's me. It's Sam."

Dean's head turns toward him slowly. His lips are torn and bleeding, and words come out in a hoarse whisper. "Get away from me. You're not Sam. Sam's not coming. He can't be here."

Sam tries again, using his most persuasive tone. "Man, it's me. It's not a trick. It's really me."

Dean shakes his head and looks away. His body shudders as an invisible lash leaves a fiery, bloody track across his chest and forces a whimper from his lips.

Sam fights back panic and tries to think logically. First, he needs to get Dean out of this hideous web. He closes his eyes and imagines a solid surface beneath them. Nothing happens. Maybe only Dean can change reality in his own mind.

He reaches for Dean again and forces his brother to look at him. "It's me, Dean. What do I have to do to convince you?"

"Tell me," Dean whispers, "Tell me something about us that only you would know."

What? The request makes no sense. Then he understands. He has to think of something a demon can't pick out of Dean's own mind.

Sam thinks quickly, searching his memory for something only he could know. "Remember when we were kids, Dad was away and I begged and begged you to let me go to that rock concert with Billy Johnson?"

He has Dean's attention. "You let me go – but I didn't go to the concert," he goes on. "I was on the team for a science quiz and I went to that instead. I told you I wanted to go to the concert because I didn't think you'd understand why I was so keen to go to the quiz."

Despite his pain, Dean manages a bark of laughter. "Jerk. I knew that."

"You knew?"

"Sammy's a hopeless liar. Good try, demon, but you'll have to do better than that."

Four more lashes in quick succession leave Dean writhing in agony and Sam thinks desperately.

"Okay – try this one. Back in high school, the information pack you got in the mail about sports scholarships to college – the one you thought Mrs. Rees sent you? That was me."

Dean's eyes widen. "Y…you?"

Sam nods. "I'd already decided even then that I wanted to go to college. I thought you deserved the chance too." He watches myriad emotions chase each other across Dean's face, leaving in their wake a sliver of hope. That's enough. That he can work with.

"Okay. I know you're still not sure I'm me, but if I was, would you trust me?"

"Always … trusted Sam."

"Okay. Let's assume for a minute that this really is me. You know I wouldn't lie to you, right?"

Dean doesn't answer, but he's listening.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to believe it, okay?"

Dean shoots him a confused look.

"Okay. I know it doesn't look like it, but there's a solid surface beneath you. You can't feel it, but it's there. Do you believe me?"

Dean swallows. "If it isn't you..."

"What do you have to lose?" Sam says persuasively. "If I'm wrong, nothing will change, right? Dean, look at me."

Dean raises his eyes and Sam holds them with his own. "Please, Dean. Close your eyes and think of a hard surface. Do it. Do it now."

Suddenly Sam feels a hard, cold surface beneath him. Perfect. He scrambles to his feet and sets about removing the hooks pinning his brother to the wires. Dean cries out.

"I'm sorry. It's okay. You'll be okay."

"Shit, Sam, it hurts."

"I know, I know it hurts." He steels himself to complete his task, finally frees his brother and pulls him into his arms. Dean's body is shaking.

"I can't do this, Sam. I can't," he whispers.

Sam holds him tight. "You don't have to. You're not in hell, Dean. You didn't die. You're trapped in your mind, but you can get out. You can come home with me."

Dean shakes his head. "No! It's a trick. You can't be Sam. The hellhound…"

"Almost killed you," Sam finishes firmly. "But something happened, Lilith's power failed and you didn't die. Lilith's gone, Dean. You're free."

He pulls back a little so he can look into his brother's eyes and almost recoils at the pain and despair he sees there. He has to finish this now.

"Dean, you have to trust me. This is really me. And I'm not going to let you stay here. You left me this time, how about that? And that's weird, because me and Dad, we've both left you so many times, and that was wrong, and it wasn't fair. I guess we thought it was okay because we knew you'd always be there when we came back. Well, Dean, I'm waiting for you this time, and I want you to come home. I need you. And I'm going to make sure that neither of us leaves ever again."

"Dad…"

"This isn't about Dad. It's about you and me. Dad's gone, but you're still here and I need you to come back. You can come back. All you have to do is believe, okay?"

Silence.

"Dean?" He reaches out, cups his brother's cheek. "Dean, close your eyes, trust me and believe that you're not in hell."

He feels a disorienting jolt, and he's back in the hospital room, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Dean tightly in his arms. Dean's head is buried in his shoulder and he feels hot tears soaking into his shirt. And Dean is holding him, arms wrapped around his back, fingers knotted tightly in the soft cotton of his shirt.

"Dean?" He tries to pull away, to check if Dean's conscious, but Dean's grip tightens. Sam hears breathing, unsteady but regular.

He closes his eyes and tightens his arms around his brother's shaking form. "It's okay. I've got you. You're home, Dean. You're home."

His world explodes in joy when Dean says in a soft, raspy voice, "Sammy."

**The End**


End file.
